


Veracity and Vacillation

by Liquid_Lyrium



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Background Relationships, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mutually Unrequited, Pining, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wedding Planning, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 04:37:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10072037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liquid_Lyrium/pseuds/Liquid_Lyrium
Summary: ...He tried not to think of how much he envied Aveline and Donnic at the moment. His heart ached at the thought that this might have been their wedding, had things been different, gone different.--Aveline and Donnic are going to get married! That suddenly renews a lot of interest in the delicate situation between Hawke and Fenris--as well as stirs up uncomfortable feelings for the both of them. At least they have their friendship, to rely on each other and make it through this. Together. As good friends.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how long this is going to be. It's probably at least... 70% ...ish written? But I'm posting the beginning of it up here to motivate myself into finally crossing the finish line! I've been sitting on this story for well over a year now! (There will be background Merribela in this fic as well because all my less than threes.) It'll be at least 3-4 chapters in length all told I'm imagining? We'll see how it all breaks down.
> 
> The rating will change in later chapters for some rather heated flashbacks to a certain night shared by a (not then) Champion and a fugitive. Also enjoy my terrible Jane Austen title stylings!

Quinntus was almost insulted, when he got the invitation to Aveline’s wedding.

 

He was happy, of course, and overjoyed for the woman, but he was also slightly annoyed.

 

After all the effort it took to get Aveline and Donnic together, all the pulling of hen’s teeth, the awkward gifting, and (the crowning glory) being _rejected_ by Donnic at the most awkward meeting of drinks known to mortalkind, Quinn was perversely annoyed that he hadn’t been needed at all.

 

He delivered his breathless response to Aveline in person, inviting himself into her office, “Of _course_ I’ll come! I can’t believe this! You didn’t even ask me to deliver a goat to his mother this time or anything! I don’t know if I’m proud or vexed!”

 

“You’re just annoyed that you missed a chance to tease me,” Aveline pointed out, though she sounded rather serene instead of bothered. She smiled warmly at Quinn, and some of his annoyance melted away, “An opportunity you seem to be more than making up for now, I’ll have you note.”

 

Quinntus laughed, “Will you at least tell me who did the asking?”

 

Aveline just smiled beatifically at him, and he felt vexed once more.

 

“You’re terrible! Varric’s going to have a field day if you don’t tell him something,” this was as much a warning as it was an attempt to fish for details. Hawke was just thankful Quincy and Fenril’s romantic storyline had taken a backseat ever since _Hard in Hightown: Siege Harder_ had been published. Maker’s breath, it was bad enough his romantic…. situation was complicated in real life, why did a fictional version of himself have to suffer too?

 

“I don’t fear anything that Varric has to say or write about this.”

 

“Someone’s feeling generous I see! I should ask you for a loan,” Quinn smirked at her and seated himself on the corner of her desk.

 

“Don’t tell me the Bone Pit has finally drained the funds from your expedition,” her answer made him laugh, but at least he could deny it. The Bone Pit actually still managed to make him a bit of coin, somehow.

 

When there wasn’t a disaster of some sort happening.

 

Aveline turned the invitation over in her hands and looked down at his guest count. Her smile shifted into a frown.

 

“Something the matter?”

 

“Quinn, you’re coming alone?”

 

Hawke leaned over, trying to peer down at the card. “What are you talking about? Didn’t I put down four were coming?”

 

Aveline sighed, “You _know_ that’s not what I mean. Bodahn, Orana, and Sandal are lovely, but I hardly think any of them qualify as an escort.”

 

“ _Aveline_ , please,” _Maker_ he didn’t want to talk about Fenris. Not when he was supposed to be teasing Aveline about her impending nuptials.

 

“Hawke, it’s been _years_. Are the two of you ever going to settle things?”

 

“It’s.. complicated,” Quinntus said defensively. “I don’t want to push.”

 

“Wasn’t it you who told me ‘friends sometimes push’?”

 

“That was different,” Quinn said, looking down at the floor. “There’s.. no reason to rush anything.”

 

“Maker’s breath, Hawke _listen_ to yourself! You two have been sitting around and dithering for at least two years now, or is it three?” She paused but he refused to give her any sort of confirmation. “The two of you make snails look quick. If you’re not going to _do_ anything about it, then why still moon over him? There are plenty of attractive men—of all sorts—in this city. You’re the _Champion_ , Hawke you could have anyone you wanted. You could find someone and be happy.”

 

_I don’t want ‘anyone.’ There’s only one man I want and if I can’t have him, that’s… fine._

 

“Fenris and I… remain the best of friends, that’s enough for me. We were always friends. He’s still part of my life. That’s enough.”

 

Aveline sighed, “If you say so Hawke, but I know he still loves you as much as you still love him.” Quinntus felt his shoulders stiffen. The affirmation made it feel like his chest was bleeding.

 

“What? Was I not supposed to say it out loud? I’m not bound by the same infuriating rules the two of you are.”

 

“What do you want me to say? That I’ll go ask him to be my escort for your wedding? You’ve invited him separately, I’m sure. Donnic will want him there. I’ll see him there. It’s fine.” There was a tightness to his jaw, a flex in his temple as he set into stubbornness for the sake of it.

 

Aveline sighed, “If you really insist on wasting the opportunity…. Fine. Though you could deliver his invitation, if you like, Donnic was going to give it to him it later today, when his shift is over, but if _you’d_ rather give it to him…”

 

“Let me know if you want the Champion to do anything at your ceremony, Aveline.“ He brusquely changed the subject, ignoring her suggestion even though he desperately wished to take the invitation and run over to Fenris’s mansion. “My appearance is quite high in demand. You could make Hightown positively _sick_ with envy if you ask me to do a reading.”

 

Aveline sighed, and for the briefest moment, Quinn thought of his mother. Aveline’s voice banished those thoughts before they had a chance to take hold, “I’ll consider it. Donnic and I have yet to speak about the ceremony. I thank you for your highly generous offer.”

 

Quinntus hated how resigned and formal Aveline’s voice sounded, but he didn’t want to discuss his complicated relationship with Fenris today. Or most days. Certainly not with people who weren’t Fenris and might have word circulate _back_ to Fenris.

 

“Something good and Fereldan, perhaps?” Quinn offered this with a smile. A sort of olive branch to right the balance between them. He held his breath silently as he waited to see if Aveline was in the mood for such appeasement.

 

“You better not be planning on letting Ser Rascal give a reading at my wedding, Hawke, mabari-blooded or no, he’s still a hound.” Quinn’s shoulders relaxed a bit as Aveline smiled, and he started to tell her a tall-tale that would have made Varric proud about a mabari presiding over a marriage in Lothering he’d attended.

 

—

 

Fenris held the invitation in his hands. He paused over one of the words and silently mouthed it, barely moving his lips. _Nuptials_. His reading and writing had much improved since his earlier days, when Hawke had first taught him how, but sometimes unfamiliar words still gave him pause. He re-read the invitation several times in swift succession, and he looked up at Donnic, brows raised, “Marriage! When did this happen? You finally did it, then? You are officially engaged?” A smile was spreading across his face, and he couldn’t help it—nor did he wish to hide his happiness in this instance. Donnic had been wanting to ask Aveline for several months, but the guardsman hadn’t been sure how to do the asking—until now, evidently.

 

“It was the most natural thing in the world, as it happened,” Donnic seemed quite pleased himself. “Were you going to bring anyone?”

 

Fenris scoffed, “You are jesting, surely? Who else would I possibly invite that isn’t already going to be there?” He held the invitation out to Donnic who held his hands up in momentary refusal.

 

“You could bring an escort. A date.”

 

Fenris stared at him flatly, “A date.”

 

“I’m sure there are plenty of men and women who wouldn’t mind showing up on your arm,” Donnic’s smile was utterly devoid of anything but good intentions, but Fenris could see the art behind it all the same. They’d played enough diamondback together that the elf could recognize the other man’s tells.

 

“You want me to ask Hawke,” he said the words without inflection.

 

“You’re the one who said it, not me,” Donnic pointed out, holding his hands up blamelessly. “Hawke already has an invitation, but no date as far as I’m aware.”

 

Fenris pointed the missive at his friend accusingly, his smile vanishing as his lips curled back reflexively to bare his teeth, “You and Aveline are trying to _interfere_. This whole wedding could be a ruse... or a scheme, the lot of you trying to fix things like one of Varric’s tawdry romances.” Donnic laughed heartily, and Fenris felt his sour expression lessen a bit despite himself. He knew his words were ridiculous as soon as he said them, but being paranoid had saved his life in the past. Surely his heightened sense of suspicion could at _least_ spare him the indignity of humiliation as well.

 

“Nothing of the sort is going on. Honestly, Fenris, if you asked him to be your ‘plus one’ I’m sure he’d show up on your arm.”

 

“I am not in need of your… advice,” Fenris tried to keep his tone civil, but he knew he sounded like a petulant child, at best; his frown just barely avoided being a pout. At worst he sounded like a churl.

 

“It’s was just an idea,” Donnic said with a shrug. “You are certainly under no obligation to ask him to go anywhere.” There was a slight pause before the man added, “You might not want to wait, Fenris. Four months is a long time.”

 

Fenris looked down at the invitation. A pang of regret stirred in his heart. He wished it were so easy. The elf sighed and set the invitation aside for the moment. “So tell me, what is one expected to wear to this affair of yours? I’m afraid my wardrobe is a bit… lacking.”

 

\---

 

There was plenty to do in the months before Aveline’s wedding, and Quinntus was happy to insert himself into those affairs as much as the woman would allow—which was not at all. It was a fatal mistake on Aveline’s part. It only meant that he’d needle her about the details over drinks and cards and whatever time she spared him.

 

“Have you thought about flowers?” He posited the question when they were having a game of Écarté in her office—one of the few games Aveline would play with Quinn because it was harder for him to cheat. Or at least that’s what the Captain of the Guard thought, and Hawke had yet to enlighten her on her mistaken notion.

 

Aveline sighed, “Whatever’s in season will be fine I’m sure. I’m not fussed.”

 

“You don’t want a bouquet of marigolds?” Hawke couldn’t help himself, asking the question with mock-innocence as he grinned wryly.

 

Aveline wrinkled her nose and made a face even as she flushed a bit, “No. They reek.”

 

“But they’re so _soft_ ,” he knew he was pushing it.

 

“ _Hawke!_ ”

 

He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. He couldn’t help riling up Aveline sometimes. “But it would be so _fitting_ ,” he grinned over at her.

 

“Well, we can’t even find the stupid etching, Maker knows Donnic keeps looking for it,” the woman sounded as if she’d be rather happy if the infamous gift remained lost for eternity.

 

Hawke gasped and clutched his cards to his breast in mock horror, “No! How could he have misplaced such an important token of your affection!”

 

Aveline rolled her eyes and laid down a card which Quinn scooped up with his low trump. He quickly placed down another trump and her expression darkened as she realized the round was about to go in his favor. Her tone was decidedly harsh as she laid down her card, “Well, we don’t all hand out gifts so easily kept track of as red scarves to our lovers."

 

Quinn’s hand faltered a bit as he reached out scoop up the trick. The remark cut too deep to make a witty rejoinder. Aveline’s glower softened into guilt and she looked away. An awkward silence fell between them.

 

Finally, Aveline cleared her throat and spoke softly—and Quinn remembered a long-ago admission that she thought her voice wasn’t quite suited for such tones, “Have you asked him yet?”

 

Quinn swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. His heart was trembling and pounding in his chest. He silently shook his head. It was like he was a wetback Ferelden refugee all over again, caught in the middle of some job for Athenril.

 

“ _Quinn!_ ”

 

“ _You_ ask him to be your date then if you’re so upset about it!” Quinn snapped at her, finally adding the trick to his pile.

 

Aveline let out a sudden laugh, despite herself. It almost sounded painful the way it broke past her steely demeanor, “Hawke! I can hardly ask another man to be my escort at my own wedding!”

 

Quinntus managed to smile at her. There was even a bit of genuine mirth to it. “I have the vole,” he said flipping over his last card, the highest honour left.

 

“You have the _Void_ , you mean! Hawke that’s the third time—are—are you _cheating!?_ ”

 

Quinntus gave her his winningest smile and his most honeyed voice, “Aveline, when have I _ever_ cheated at cards with you?”

 

Aveline let out a yell and she swiped the cards, sending them flying.

 

Hawke just laughed as the cards scattered and hit him harmlessly. He started to gather the fallen cards, and he glanced down at his lap. There it was—a serpent looking up at him from his crotch. Quinn threw his head back and cackled in raucous glee. He lifted the card to show Aveline who looked rather mortified, but she started laughing helplessly after hiding her freckles behind her hands.

 

Hawke grinned broadly, using the opportunity to shuffle and stack the deck once more.

 

\---

 

Fenris tried not to make a face as another needle pricked him. The pain that accompanied it was bearable, but the fact that it _kept happening_ over and over was starting to irritate him. His faint scowl was probably doing little to calm the nerves of the apprentice working the pins. Fenris glanced over at Donnic, also getting fitted for his wedding attire.

 

Donnic smiled over at him when Fenris finally caught his eye. “Hmm? Did you need something?”

 

“Is this really necessary so far in advance?” He did not wish to appear churlish, or worse inconsiderate, but the event was still quite far off. And truthfully, Fenris felt that he’d rather return on another day where he didn’t have to be on the receiving end of so many pins and needles.

 

“Did you have more pressing matters to attend to this afternoon? I could give you leave if you need to speak with Hawke about coordinating your apparel,” Donnic was far too amused for Fenris’s liking.

“You could quit the guard and serve as the seneschal’s jester for how merry this venture has made you,” the elf turned his gaze back to the looking glass in front of him, something he normally avoided doing. Gone were the breastplate and gauntlets he constantly wore. Fenris gripped his hands into fists; he hated how they looked bare. Without his metal claws, the lyrium that lined his palms and fingers seemed all the more stark, made his past all the more present.

 

“Are you going to ask him?” The question was curious and without judgement, but Fenris felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise all the same.

 

“I’m certain Hawke would rather—“

 

“If he would _rather_ , then he’d have already asked someone else by now, don’t you think?”

 

“It matters little to me who he goes with, if anyone,” Fenris glanced at Donnic briefly from the corner of his eye, wishing he could run from this entire conversation.

 

“Pity we aren’t playing Diamondback right now,” Donnic had that infuriating, patient half-smile on his face once again. “I’d be walking away with the whole pot right now.”

 

“Last time you were certain of that you walked away empty-handed. I’d be more than happy to prove you wrong again, when this is done,” had Fenris been speaking to anyone else, the topic might have been closed far more abruptly, but he was far more willing to speak of Hawke with Donnic. Perhaps because his words would have less chance to circulate back to their friends. Or at least the chatty ones.

 

The groom-to-be chuckled warmly, “Very well then. Maybe we can find some more of that Antivan whiskey in that cellar of yours.”

 

“Mm. That shouldn’t be a problem,” Fenris ran his thumb along the pads of his fingers, looking at the mirror once more. “Is it too late to change the sleeves on this?” His question was directed towards the apprentice at his elbow. The sudden question prompted a jump from the young man, and a pin prick that was fierce enough to draw a bead of blood.

 

“Sorry! Uh… well that depends what you had in mind, serah.”

 

“Something that comes over the palms,” he’d seen several styles but he didn’t have the names for any of them. Sleeves that extended down to the knuckles, or fabric that laced about the fingers. _Quinntus would know what to call them._ The Champion had long admired fine clothing—especially since he could afford it now.

 

“Shouldn’t be too difficult, I just need a few more pins and bring down the fabric here—“ Fenris held up a hand.

“Perhaps you can hold the fabric and I’ll put the pins in place this time,” he was relieved when the apprentice gave him a smile and a nod. Fenris suddenly imagined Quinntus laughing, and he couldn’t help a tiny smile of his own.

 

By the end of the visit he and Donnic both had the approximations of fine garments—and another fitting scheduled a month before the wedding.

 

Fenris privately hoped he wouldn’t be assisted by the same apprentice next time.

\---

 

“Messere Hawke?” Bodahn knocked on the doorframe to Quinn’s study. Hawke leaned back in his chair, rolling his wrists a bit.

 

“Yes Bodahn, can I do something for you? Anything to interrupt my finances,” he glanced over his shoulder and shot a grin at the dwarf.

 

The self-styled manservant chuckled a bit, “Nothing you can do for me, I’m afraid, but you did receive a message just now. A social invitation I think.” Quinn extended his arm for the missive as Bodahn walked it over.

 

“Whose party are we rejecting this time, I wonder…” Quinn turned the envelope over and started to unseal it.

 

“Really Messere, you should think about going out more often. You already have such an anti-social reputation.”

 

“Bodahn, I am plenty social, just not with my so-called peers. I go to someone’s event once a month. Sometimes twice. Enough that people know the Champion is alive,” he pulled out the letter and he froze for several moments.

 

“Something wrong, messere?”

 

“It’s… an invitation. To Aveline’s wedding.”

 

Bodahn’s brows furrowed, “Didn’t you already tell Captain Aveline we were coming? Is something wrong?”

 

Quinn shook his head. “No, no—it’s not _from_ her. It’s from someone else. Another guest, I think. They’re asking if I would like to be their escort.” Quinntus shot Bodahn a look, his face twisted in surprise. The dwarf’s brows were raised in equal astonishment.

 

“Well… who is it?”

 

“Someone named… Anabelle du Rand. If I’ve met her before I don’t recall,” he scanned the letter again, trying to remember if he’d even so much as met this woman. He knew the family name, but he couldn’t picture Anabelle. Of course, he'd always been a bit lax when it came to keeping track of the eligible bachelorettes of Kirkwall.

 

“Shame you haven’t asked that dashing Fenris fellow to go with you, then.”

 

“ _Bodahn!_ Not you too!” Was the _entire_ city-state trying to make this happen?

 

“It would make the matter of refusing such …generous offers rather simple though, wouldn’t you say?” There was a crafty sort of glint in the dwarf’s eye as he smiled fondly at Quinn.

 

“I am surrounded by conspirators,” Quinntus shook his head with a smile and a rueful chuckle.

 

“What’s the worst that could happen if you asked him? He says no?” Hawke sighed and set the letter on top of his financial ledger as a reminder to reply to it when he was done.

 

“I’ll thank you not to judge me for my cowardice, serah,” he bent over the ledger and started scribbling furiously, as though he were suddenly keenly interested in tracking the income and expenditures for the Bone Pit over the last three months. There was a heavy sigh from the dwarf, all hint of playfulness gone.

 

“Very well, messere, as you wish.”

  
“It doesn’t matter what I wish,” Quinn muttered under his breath as Bodahn walked away.


End file.
